twinklinggrass

[twinklinggrass]

Hermits needs to force Joel to socialise.

(but I do love when he talks with all the different versions of himself.)

[twinklinggrass]

The seventh.

[twinklinggrass]

just saw a banana fish edit and was like oh my god that’s literally drarry

[twinklinggrass]

Slander | @drarrymicrofic | 190 words

[twinklinggrass]

Drarry spin the bottle or Drarry clothes swap?

Going as each other for Halloween 🎃

[twinklinggrass]

What relationships are canon in ddvau so far, if I'm allowed to ask?

Lizzie and Joel

And Cleo Bdubs and Etho

[twinklinggrass]

OF COURSE I had to post another one of my top 3 fanarts here too!! Style is inspired by Picolo, who makes amazing Teen TItans fanart

[twinklinggrass]

scars

[twinklinggrass]

A Double Victory

[twinklinggrass]

im only [checks calendar] a week late but hbd draco, love u, bitch

[twinklinggrass]

Harry Potter and the greed they talk about in the bible.

[twinklinggrass]

ah.. yes.. auror potter’s greatest weakness… draco malfoy sulking :)

[twinklinggrass]

Happy First Birthday to this little guy

[twinklinggrass]

Microfic: Inhale

for @drarrymicrofic. unbetaed, and i'm sure there's mistakes, and apparently four years hasn't made me any better at the micro part! cw: suicide

Happy birthday @wolfpants! i'm sorry it's a bit of a sad one :D

***

Harry inhales.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself back at Hogwarts, standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. He’s surrounded by a mist so pervasive he can see barely twenty feet in any direction, though it’s nothing like the dense gloomy Highlands fog he knows. This mist is brighter, otherworldly in its brilliance, and it's with a lurch of his stomach that Harry understands: he might have stood on this patch of grass dozens of times, but he’s only been here once before, and the last time round it looked like a railway platform.

He's not alone this time, either: there’s a man in the centre of the pitch, kneeling over two brooms. White hair on white mist; even so, it takes a while to make the connection. It’s been years, after all.

Harry clears his throat. I didn’t think I’d see you here, he means to say, but it comes out wrong. “I didn’t think I’d be here.”

Malfoy looks up, startled. “Well, hello to you too,” he says, in that snobbish, snotty, teenage voice Harry now hears only in his dreams. “I’d say I didn’t think I’d see you here either, but then shoving your partner out of the way so you can take a Reducto to the chest actually seems rather on-brand for Harry bloody Potter.”

It’s almost funny, except for all the ways in which it isn’t. Malfoy’s so young still, barefoot, his toes digging into the mist-damp grass. His robes are Azkaban-issue, comically large; he has to bunch them up in one hand as he gets to his feet.

“This place is an in-between,” Malfoy begins, spreading his arms to indicate their surroundings. Harry’s eyes catch on his left cuff, which is brown on the inside, a faded bloodstain blooming almost up to the elbow. Malfoy catches Harry looking, and drops his hands quickly to his sides.

“I know what this place is,” says Harry quickly. “I’ve done it before, remember?”

“Of course you have,” Malfoy says, tired. “Well, I suppose that makes my job easier. If you know where you are, you know what happens next.”

Harry’s chest feels odd, suddenly, empty of air. He presses a hand against it, finds his clothes damp with the mist. “What happens next,” he says, considering. “You going to give me a load of platitudes, say some vague stuff about death, and then let me choose whether to stay here or go back?”

Malfoy snorts. “Hardly. Fuck Dumbledore, honestly. And I’m not daft, Potter, I know you’ll go back. You’ve got people who… I mean, you’ve got people, haven’t you.” He glares at Harry, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “I just thought we might play some Quidditch before you leave. If you want.”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Yeah, alright then.”

Harry captains his Sunday league team, and Malfoy’s been dead for five years, so it shouldn’t be close, not really, but this is the in-between place, and this is Malfoy, infuriating relentless Malfoy, with teenage reflexes and stamina to boot. Malfoy plays like he has no fear, which is probably true, and like he has nothing to lose, which is definitely true, and it is close. The Snitch is barely visible through the endless mist, and the two of them end up flying neck and neck over hills and valleys, arms outstretched towards every celestial glimmer. It’s Malfoy who makes the catch in the end, breathless and beautiful, laughing and laughing and so full of life as he heads back to the stadium. The scar on his wrist is clear to see, red raw as he lifts his fist up to the sky, and Harry flies over beside him, catching his outstretched arm. The wound’s a little jagged in the middle, like maybe he changed his mind halfway through.

“I was there, for the Wizengamot,” Harry tells him, quietly, as they land together on the pitch. “I was going to speak for you.”

Malfoy makes a pained noise, turning his face aside. He opens his fist, lets the Snitch disappear off into endless white, and Harry slips his own hand in its place. There’s a rushing, roaring sound in his ears that’s growing harder to ignore.

“Decided what you’re doing yet, Potter?” Malfoy asks, voice tight. “It’s almost time, you know.” He moves to pull his hand back, but Harry tightens his grip.

“What about you?”

Malfoy snorts. “Me? What do you think?”

The roaring sound’s louder now. Harry can make out voices. Ron’s, maybe, and Robards’. There’s the whoosh of rapid casting, the pop of Apparition, and somewhere far off, a child is screaming.

Back in the silent in-between, Malfoy waits, eyes bright.

“Well?” he asks, squeezing Harry’s hand.

Harry inhales.

[twinklinggrass]

to be continued...

[twinklinggrass]

Bday Boy ✨️

2 pieces here

[twinklinggrass]

Happy birthday Draco!🎉🎊🎂

Quick art, because I'm a ~stupid baby~ and completely forgot about our boy's birthday😭

#DracoMalfoy